A rebel without a clue.

This morning youths are showing they gave no damn for the night or dawn; good on them. Penultimate jour pour moi. Sat in voiture sept of le TGV from Hendaye to Bordeaux St Jean. Need one night in a Gites d'etape or relais before bon voyage a au revoir. Again France explodes in my face at how expensive anything is: €3.50 Croque M. No way am I even considering that. A cheese toasty for £3, bechamel is a blanc sauce. Shared a room with a French pelerin so €60 was not helling heavily weighing. Yesterday was a day of traveling and sleeping and purchasing travel tickets. Suddenly it is too expensive to roam unplanned. What ever happened to last minute sales? But it is of no matter. The conductor blows his whistle and I can look at the many positives of my pilgrimage: I did it! One way or another I reached a goal that beckoned me unasked. Now reach out for cafe noir. Coffee is literally more expensive than beer on a TGV. I moan, but it is just some beans roasted to a very hi...

Waiting for the closure of today back in Cervantes where the folk music still flows and is a gracious improvement on vagabond pipes and harp played 24/7. A tray of scallops to earnestly become a paid in full member of the Saint James club and Ribero del Duoro barrique aged; dense but insignicant. Seems white barrica is not common/possible: fancied a chardonnay fat buttery but there is no fat barrique white to be had von Cervantes Bar. For some odd off reason just must fly/drive anywhere Saturday or Sunday. Nothing calm can come from Santiago. Perhaps a trip to the open mercado early on the morrow; buy fruit. Just said bonjour/salut to Wilfred and Linda; nothing to say: the end has come. Why should this normal place freak me so much. There isn't nothing anything something different from York, etc tourist city. Check out an internet cafe to book a flight to northern England? To be sure found O Paris Bar again not easiest bohemian place to locate in the street of thousands of facele...

The final day of walking. Amazed at myself for being brilliantly resilient since all that was thrown my way since 21st May in Leeds, UK; bit vain too! Of all the guys who left the final cafe this morning only the two Germans and I made it to this 3* Hotel(my only extravagant expense since leaving France); over a dinner of fresh tortilla and salad, tarte compostella and a bottle of Alberino we discussed which wine, movies, books we'd take to a desert island. I assumed they meant a book they'd not read before as you'd need something very long, interesting and unknown to you previously? Late rise for me was just prior to seven. I am packed and will bathe again; I noted this morning the mozzies gave me one stinging in Bruma. Much welts! Time for breakfast has come and gone and I'm on the final stage. Leaving hotel saint vincent lighter mentally and financially. The town that disliked people: Siguerio. Sure it won't let you down? Checking down the way markers we brea...

Don't dance her down? Rias Altas Betanzos 2011. There comes a time when you know cheese, wine, beer, cider, bread, cured meats; ectcetra, and your knowledge can reform views on combinations in France, Italy, Croatia, Spain, ectcetra. Wow it feels nice to be useful but not conceited. Portugalleses taking the informed opinion of an angleterra and thinging a wave of some Riesling summer stylee. And so to bed? Yup. To be asked by either a Parisian or Madridian which counties wine is best is vainglorious and extremely blinkered. The locality of the vino, food, etc. It is always the Pays Pais Country stuff you should faggazal! I don't care I am alluring towards love for arnica that was chased from Mageride to Galicia! Oh right that's right 5am. Wherever there's a crowd there's a urge to wake earlier and earlier so I toliet and then return for a broken hour or two. At 7am the distance yawns before me like a sleepy cat. One day more to spend walking a long way in a race to...

Azurely assuredly a day for walking the shortest route possible. Slept deep yet woke up terribly exhausted. Yesterday was all round too tough so aiming for Betanzos, which is just over one tremendous hill and no more. Breakfast is essentially necessary now! Finding a cafe as succeedingly provisioned again might be unlikely. There is a comforting under floor heating this morning yet still no hot water! Linda has sun stroke or dehyration so we breakfast and I depart with two juicy figs and pass through a smokey trough over the bay looking for a clear sign I am on the Camino. After an up at the heaven climb I hit the top and passage of barking dogs cheering me onwards and eventually chetch and choing smoking house or a saxophone for a maximum blower. To walk alone. Pact of suicide dogs as I trundled through con/sin Gas. U know I sin con Gas! I sinned not; on only two occasions I have been requested to prove my identity: once buying a BigMac in Ferrol and just now in Miño buying sil...

The old man didn't stay he was just looking to keep his metaphysics warm. Linda and I shot up to the Bar Excelsior for a little picho and a glass of vino for Linda and Sidra from moi then I ordered a meal; which indeed arrived as two! There was me thinking I had only asked for a side salad, not a main meal, to go with spicy pork and chips. You don't need a McDonald's at 3pm and have another full helping around 7pm. Tomorrow I maybe have to wait a while for breakfast. The Portuguese mother daughter combo have gone to wait the songs of Spain's fiesta while I read Jack traveling back across west with Moriety hot on his heels. I wish I had the balls to just to make split second leaps or knew how I could survive without the solidity of back up finances. Simply I'm tepid not distinctly warm: even now there could be fun tonight, but I've removed my body from direct assault; I want to be shielded from the night and be ready for breakfast. Age is a state of mind. I suppo...

9:55am A Coruña €13.30, 12:30pm Ferrol €7.20 and most of my emerging mental problems are resolved as we disappeared to the North; two legs. Ferrol is a modern sea port with very little to dream about. Once I found the Spanish square and a helpful man I was set on a journey to discover a place to rest down for the night, clean my dirties and relax ahead of the next five days; I expect to arrive on Friday properly mentally accordant and receive my compostele. The fiesta concludes tonight and tomorrow is a bank holiday in Spain. This long weekend of revisions and decisions over the longest days of 2013 I have arrived in Neda and may be ready for what will be my final week of pilgrimage in Spain; I plan to get back the cheapest option after a strenous week free of crowds. There are currently 8 in an auberge 28; if the numbers stay the same yippee we start Monday perfectly. But a confused old man!?! Always a confused old man! I leave him looking for his credentials ... They ...

The distant noises of the summer solstice celebration came back over the hill and woke me from my deeply comfortable sleep. Something good sang me to sleep at just gone ten and so I missed another youthful celebration: I would've danced the fandango in my lean and handsome years with the same enthusiasm and freedom that conquering the Aubrac meant to me now. Age is conquering me. This is not the end, but it is perhaps the beginning of the end? Camino Inglés today. Five days from Monday to Santiago de Compostella to earn my Compostele. Some other way is calling me.

My most recent conversation back to the UK makes it clear that I'm just about right to return to sunny blighty for a little while. I'm feeling utterly tired and, even though my feet feel better, one night's sleep without others snoring, etc I'm exactly knackered. The short walk to Cape Finisterre felt indecisive. My mind wasn't of subject; I caught myself worrying a little about what to do now? A walk on ferry might be potentially cheapest from Santander if I head up to A Coruna. Something is telling me to walk home from Cornwall. Rome feel a crazy concept with the currently saggy tired eyed me. I said I would get there to meet Jason in July which I would do still if I found a cheap means of staying there too. The end of the world was a great place to conclude the ninth chapter and recall all the fantastic food, wine and the cast of thousands I met across Europe. Some point has been reached in my head and tomorrow I'm heading north and towards the sights and sm...

Ever since Cahors a theory has developed I found my freedom in the terrors the way found for me between Puy and Aubrac. Something singular and significantly pastoral. Just a tidy seventeen kilometres today. Puts me at two stages beyond the Canadian devil. Stopping - Finished for today. Donativo 3 on the bounce. In a wilderness of persons I escaped alive and with wit. Busy bee. Couple of beers with Daniel from Barcelona; father Liverpool and mother Catalan. After popping to the supermecardo cooked a paella with red peppers, onions, rice, chorizo picante, pancetta, white wine, herbs provence, salt. Sat down with a stick of bread and el coto crianza 2008. Legendary supper. Shared the fayre with 5 others. I hardly know their names. Did a meal unlike Wednesday night. Not lacking depth and textures. Great Vino makes a significant difference. Helene, one of our hosts, enjoyed the supper while Pierre emphasises the need to donate €7. I was hoping you weren't a vegan and doesn't drin...

Tried to pay my Orange account, but I am unable. Usual paper self rearing it's head mid to late in the month. One bit of administration for June/July. Hope my family can help me in the UK? I know I must overcome this feeling of being alone amongst a legion of Pelegrinos. What kind of goal is being lost like a silent voice in the choir of disorganized cacophony. I am not alone thinking the young 'pelegrino' are crazy. I collected my micro towel. I will breakfast and away. I dreamt a few days ago about JFK coming to visit me and a friend. I tried to warn him of his fate, but he wouldn't listen. This was in Pamplona. It is possible this was a warning to me that my way would become my mental assassination. I should have listened to Serge in Cahors. I understood so little around that table, but word of the road Primativo cropped up every night of the four I camped out. I am not on the Way because of a Movie! I am laid out on my floor for the night; which is fine, but the ...

How to accommodate the crowds? How to be always the few not the many? 0.01%. Many Italia. Beautiful locale which reminds me of the Tours Anglais in Aubrac. But instead of two Frenchmen and I ... Sixty Italians, one Danish, one South African, eighty Spanish and I hear an Israeli? What! I am reminded of the road to calvary by Bruegal. Yes we are all individuals! A beautiful space but I feel crammed into a low celling and between all the young voices and piano playing adolescents I can't cope. This part of the Camino is too rammed. I must find a way that links me with freedom and existence. I asked if I could sleep in the second overflow and now a way across the road listening: If 6 was 9. Free. I don't care. 0.01%.

The devil is in our midst and he is Canadian. Stoned beyond redemption and suddenly he's the chef de cuisine. I'm hating the way my experience has been altered by one unaware individual. He is meaningless. I must remember that he is meaningless. He has disturbed me twice now. In both large Cities: Pamplona and Logrono. So much I just want to go home. People have played up to his appallingly bad meal. Flavourless and over cooked. Second time I've needed to flee the dinner table at the conclusion of the sweet course. Oh why! Those guys from over the Atlantic must make themselves heard. They're insanely insignificant to Europe. With a better morning and rice pudding for breakfast I run run run to autobus estacion for to out-distance Peter, Amish and two Americans. thanks to Claire from iglesia de santiago el real for helping me. and also Nicole and Antonio at breakfast for bringing the better feeling back. if I see Peter, Hank or Bernadie again in this life! I realise wit...

Bed. Unwind. Spoke briefly to our volunteer host. She asked me if there was anything I needed. After snoozing, with a heavy downpour filling the ancient streets of Logrono and washing away stress. I find napping on a rainy afternoon doubly engaging. Elisa and her father have found the bed next to mine for the night. There are a limited number of beds, but there are also a number of matts on the first floor. The bell of the large church sounds down the quarters and the host comes to beckon me for a hot drink and biscuits. I leave the tranquility of my bed for a table of loud discussions, but I find ease in camomile and 24 tiles depicting the life of Saint Vincent. I know that there is less reason to the Way than I perceive others demanding it be. An American lady wanted to come with me when I went for my sandwich and detour but I wanted to be alone. She seems so intensely loud and wants everyone to hear her stories. Why do I want to end this now. We don't need to fill every silenc...

Weather has changed. Finally! Rain and grey skies, alternating with sunny spells. Nice small village on a hill side to hang in today. Not in the same brutal expectant for the morrow. Stopping at Logrono - famous for La Rioja. First Cahors now I'm in La Rioja: they'll be no complaints about the wine, however the queso campagna is very average. Must go out of my way to find a special cheese to stick with a robust but yielding vino tinto. What more do you need? Brebis? Hung about until seven for our pelegrino supper. Three courses, bread, wine and water for only €10. Pleasures of conversations too. Bo, elisa, guy. A dane and two bretons. My broken French is exactly like 'allo 'allo policeman. Not too impressed with the green label Rioja; the lower levels of that wine are using the DOC moniker, but they're not more than vin du table. Rioja needs to re-assert it's expectations and firmly say no the wine calling itself Rioja! The ball of my left foot feels crushed u...

Awake upon the merry dawn chorus earlier and before you sleep too much. Looking up the stars still shine as I shoulder my pack and begin this 29 kilometres. 5:45. Walk before the dawn arrived in the last stop for nine kilometres. Breakfast stop. Wait for the local bar to open for bocodillo and cafe. I set off with a Spanish lady, French couple and Danish priest. Maybe he's going too fast. I said see you soon. My legs need solace at 700 metres. Between Monjardin and Los Arcos it is an unbroken 9 kilometres. Petit dejourner now until 8:30. I feel insane! Finally reached Los Archos... That road went on forever. Stopped. Thought of stopping for a while, but the sun wasn't out... Don't chance your luck! So I pick up two huge oranges and a Danone yogurt drink. From 5.7kms you can see two villages and I sure hope the closer is our bed for today? As it gets closer I feel that the bastards have led me here just to inform me my stop is another few leagues off. Facking buggered! 14...

Distinct lack of energy: we're all zapped like tortured flies. Everyone is together alone. Some somnobulant readers, sleepers and I drawing freestyle. Now wolfing down pasas sin pepitas and glass duo of garanacha/ grenache noir. Two danes have heads in fiction. Partneren/Khans Skat. We're all in a trance; bewitched by the croaking and chirping. Adios amigos? Frau hacks at bread with a blunt spoon. We are lack want. None move very quickly if at all; it strikes me it is some opium den. Quick tour of the ville but even at 7pm it is shouting it is hot; 30°. Quick hello bueno to two female skinheads from Torino, both femme? One has very bad knees. Everyone has a bad mechanism lazy city walking doesn't require attention to the position of feet, knees and hips. I learnt this in France. All these guys out of Saint Jean Pied Pont are suffering terribly. We walk without marching correctly. Fini. Got some bananas, prunes, figs and a can of Coke Zero to skip along the Camino by 6:30...

Snakes in the grass go wild in the country, at around caza de reserva where the frogs were croaking, he passed me and then watched my onwards journey. We bothered each other but briefly. I saw some very old vines just near to the first village after Puente la Reina: Mañeru. I ventured to get groceries in Estella took a turn round the centre and found a bodegas artisanale. Me thinks €8 for old vine garanacha isn't too bad to confirm my feelings. Laderas de Montejurra, Emiliovalerio. Back to consume my unvaried lentil and pea from a can with a carrot of the pickled sort. Je suis le Gourmand, Non? Well the vin rouge knocks panties off all wine since Cahors; nice action Navarra old vine Garanacha. One glass and then a siesta it is 16:04 here but might be 14:04 really. That is what the sundial says. That is what the sun says. That is why it was so hot at ten, eleven and twelve: bastards! European central time fucks with your mind. I'm now overheating and can only wear my gaudi Can...

Cerveza from a vending machine: a buck? Nice idea! San Miguel not so hot, but it is ok? Sat in the Jardin with Seanan playing scales; or is that another person? Cathal reads Mort in the sun and I have another blister on the same toe as on the Aubrac. Nana stretches her left leg in the shade. A couple of hours and I'm tired, but maybe also full of gay fever. Yep. My nose is gay, my eyes are gay and my throat is gayer too. Listening to the auberge I'm wakened from my drifting via Australian voices. Which is damn odd. I feel a kin of that voice. New Zealand too. A homeless man I rewrite his worth. I substitute on for at. He lives 'on' the street ... What arrogance. Now he knows where he lives on Inglasis. Drops his pencil in the gutter. Drunk as a Skunk. I think of all the ciders outside of the West Country Asturias is closest. Good truth. Apples. Sour. Cloudy. Off back to sleep well. Really great being back on the way. ... Mad Spaniards coming into the only place to ...

In Pamplona we're in four rows, 2 deep on either side of what was once a church, couple of doors down from the main Cathedral. You are assigned a bed in order and once there are no more beds? Keep walking. There are 28 beds in 14 bunks on this right wing and the same is repeated above me and on the left hand side; roughly 120 beds. Plenty of space in a cloistered space to dry clothes. Jesus Y Maria. The people I've briefly spoken to are a variety of ethnicities, and the age group stretches further too. My wind is not really in my sails today so I've planned what I'm wearing tomorrow, but I don't feel alive or vital yet. I listened to the Bayern master pianist without really caring what he was playing, or how well. I thought he'd said he was from Bolivia not Bavaria. I am off. Switched off. My stomach sighing is concerning me as this is a community dorm and I can't go letting off steam without a few sour looks. It seems perfectly reasonable for me to go the J...

Sleepless in Girona. Sleeping in Pamplona. Another crazy night of booming voices, late arrivals and plenty of stomping feet; mopeds and motorbikes scretching; guitars wailing, gulls foiling; car alarms bawling; Spanish hombres singing, shouting and slagging; me flailing the dark! This ain't no place to be able to sleep through the chorus and awaken raring to take my seat; plaça catalunya. Wil.I.am and Justin Bieber 7am Girona oh yeah! I'm sat as far as I could get. Why is it so mono and unreal. Katie Perry: I'm taking my stuff and going. My pelerin pendant has vanished and I almost in my haste left no. 2 flask. Who is it writes and produces such dreadfully awful and empty popular music? It is so bad and evil that we're being subjected to either 24hr terror on the airwaves or transmission in one corner or 24hrs mindlessly unmusical frantic gibberish. I depart as soon as I consume a watery coffee and confide to the night security man how insane the music would make me. A...

Girona. End of. Pt.2. Between an alfresco afternoon tapas and wine those boomerang Ray-Ban's returned. Knew I shouldn't fret! If my water bottle could come south of its own motivation I would be complete again! Self made is often ideal, but I am unable to make this of myself. For a tetra prisma Solfrío Gazpacho bring it on! Better than any restaurants made option in the UK. There is a tension between the tomato, bread and olive oil which could make a bleeding Mary? So I popped the cork on the terminal Cahors vin and the last alcohol to touch my lips prior to the next walking section of the pilgrimage. Then a siesta for fragmentation. Woken by Harley Davidson screaming up Ginesta at 5pm. It drags to have the afternoon under the volcano broken by such an arrogant machine. The other thirds of the vin I hope to share out in equal measurements. Some angry Spanish TV opera plays out over the heads of those of us truly detached from another reality. I checked the forecast for Puent...

Girona, you took my glasses! An exchange of goods. My sun glasses; Ray-Ban's roadsters. Gone this morning. I packed up again. More needs washing than is for wearing; I dug out my shorts, worn, and shirt, clean. If they weren't from prior to cornwall 2010 I would be maybe aggreived a little, but they're not essential. What did we do in the sun before shades? A hat. Slip Slop Slap; no mention of sunnies on channel nine! The Polish girl left a facial scrub that my pores were screaming at me to use! My face is polished up a sheen. Dolce Cafè for an espresso that is so thick my spoon defies logic! It's another blue skies day in the heart of Girona. The bustle under the cover of these arched, covered, side walks. All Spain hides before the sun paralyzed open spaces and a Catalan flag hangs sagging nonchalantly in a suggestion of a breeze. With selfless suggestion I set two Canadian darlings feet on the road to Sitges and Sonar free Spain. They flee south and weighed down F...

Na Woke up with the departure of the friendly happy Polish couple at 5am and bravado of a screaming drunk in the Girona early morning dusk. Time for breakfast and my eyes and ears to blown away by the anger inherent in the world currently. 24hr news is absolutely the most depressing symtom of the modern world. Whether is comes across in Catalans or Spanish or English or French it is a fundamental wrong of our society. I wonder what really happens in this world that isn't coordinated for interplay of media. There ain't no such need for a travel report; that man's brains were running from his ears! Sonar in Barcelona. There was once a time I was desperate to attend there, miss kittin et al. Puente la Reina has more ability to appeal to me. People are detached this morning; except Naza. Insular Japanese and fragmented man. The sun is always shining perhaps they forget? Met Edward on the terrace of the hostel last night. He's off on his bike third day running; to us both...

Ro Heavy things have clearly got to go. A slow packet to the UK. Jeans, Jumpers, etc. Thought about a pair of shorts but I might just survive with what I have clearly? I could cut the lowe alpine trousers back to the knees or thigh. I haven't been to Girona before. I must've seen a minute percentage in 2004. I certainly had too much on my whistling little mind; again; but that was the first crisis; my theory my life is cycles of exploration. I conclude that I can accept 99% of the crap if only occasionally I live uniquely just extra placentally. Another square like Plaça Real Barri Gotic: Plaça de la Independencia. Charming Rosita Original(5.5%) Tarragona. Made uniquely with honey. Blooming eck. Them voices are not mine. It is a different time, but at some point during the 15th centuries, my antecedents were adventurers, conquistodors or gypsys. My blood is contaminated all through with crimson tides delivering gold, ivory, silk, pepper and people. Trafficking from Cape Cod...

Gi Coca Cola Light next to the University of Girona. I feel invigorated and some fear vanished. From Campus the pulse of Men At Work on a bright spring apres midi. One day becomes two and then another train to Pamplona. Never miss this jewelled city where puta is the first word that escaped my lips in Equity Point a kin of Gothic Point. Is where the stress of Montpellier might vanish in the wake of a migraine. Funny that my brain is shattered by happiness in this hopeful place. Figeac + Cahors -Montpellier + Girona is still a marvelous two zip to the truth. Funnily I really can't recall the place feeling so insanely beneficial. Something else which has changed. It is true I never looked elsewhere than me and I suppose a limit of the circumstances and my ignorance of age prevented me peeling back my eyelids further than the slight hooks they'd become working at Coors. It is better to be now. From the coat of the sleeping blessed virgin/vestit de la mare de éu adormida vestry ...

Departing Montpellier The noises. I retired before 9 last night and was left to accommodate a gaggle of giggling girls tittering in french laughter, but then! Monster of the deep at around four someone violently screaming, shouting and banging something: a door or shutter; thud thud thud. Le insanity of large cities. Someone festering while I was left to sweat on this morning. Well I am up and completely away with a café noir two sugars and pain compagne/pays. Bye bye Montpellier. If I get the chance to return to France in the future I will start from Estaing and continue the Way uninterrupted, but watch out for the cities: you get burned. Left to find café and pain. Was €20 Now €13.50! Sacred Blue! Finally I've left something behind. My first loss of the trip in a city I felt seldom seen: my right flask! Balls. More outlay from commercial France. The closer I get to the gravity of a city the less I am in control of my destiny as so much challenges any want I had...

Montpellier Pt.5. I detoured to the Gare Saint Roch to without France early Wednesday morning. I can hear manana shouting my name. Oh Girona! Legendary city. Never thought I would return that way again. From there there are a couple of options to move forward and bring the pilgrimage back within touching point. It will be much hotter walking across Spain so anything that can reduce the burden of the several hundred kilometres. The walking will need to begin earlier or be broken up regularly to keep my energy levels high and a lot of my stuff will need to return somewhere. I wonder whom I'll see in Puente? I haven't been inspired into the poetic moi since I degusted from Cahors via Ruth. I noticed my writing is a little laboured and contrite. Added to this dissatisfaction I can't seem to keep far from the toilet here in Montpellier and I also came back via that McDonald's on the Funny Place. You can tell you run out of options when a cheap burger joint becomes the onl...

Montpellier Pt.4. Montpellier has been a challenge really. I can feel nothing but relief when I catch the first cheap vehicle out of here. I'm sat beneath the opera house looking along the M square and it somehow feels dirty, messy or frantic. A lot of crazy drunken fools tumble passed absorbed groups of German tourists. Plug them in or wind their mechanism and see a merry mental dance. After a lentil salad, bananas and 75cl of eau naturale I'm thinking a return to the Majestic to shower and change and perhaps forget the forceful masses undone in Place de la Comedie. The price of everything skints and ain't no joke. The joke I suppose is on me for letting something meaningless pull my feet away from the solace and happiness of moving ever away from the pain such places as Montpellier represent. I returned to the Hotel realised Spain is only a couple of hours south. I'm sodding off to Girona. I return to sweet simple peaceful city. With sweat pouring down my brow I pla...

Montpellier Pt.3. Trust is a funny thing. I came to this city not for me, for Glenn, but also because I felt lonely and needed a good Yorkshire voice to help me on my Way. Nothing real came of Montpellier so I am quite smashed and wondering how I was brought here without self control. Some dangle of a nice rope played tricks around my face bringing me south east and never south west of France after Cahors. No matter. Wednesday I will head west away with the sunrise. Some options are Perpignan, Toulouse or Barcelona. Or further west Bayonne or Biarritz. I'm beginning to feel Perpignan as I really don't want to be in Barcelona or Toulouse, but it is a reasonable distance towards Pamplona. The old me maybe would let the negativity of yesterday play tricks with me today. But something great comes of flipping with the ready formed road west. Wow Glenn u needed to have a break for yourself? Instead you have a nightmare during the day. Wow another guy who I see as a mistake of beh...

Montpellier Pt.2. Monday morning torrential rain until 3am, binmen at 5am and street cleaners at 7am. Hi Montpellier I am awake and wondering what happened to nothing? Put on your morning shoes; dancing shoes, it's good for you. Good morning. In France there isn't any such thing as a good morning. Bon Matins is not a concept. The changing aspects are not reflected in the morning. Day break I have my fast of cafe, confiture and pain: the repeat of the everyday man. I am le chatty man. Not an Alan Carr twatty man syndrome merci! Third cup of cafe/choco and really I still feel a little indistinct. I'm pushing my self to fratenise but don't really have the feeling for it. A youngster with Nike Air Jordan's Marke trois hasn't the history of them in his stride. Is it a fault of the older generation's grinding teeth when they see the lack of a subculture that hasn't been assimilated into corporate face/off empty eyed mouthing? There is no struggle amongst t...

Montpellier Pt.1 Merry French revellers, Spanish bongo drummers p/assing the windows and such clacking thunder of snores: in Montpellier I sleep in an ancient pilgrimage halt for a night but most of the noises kept me alive in that dark. Even at six this morning people verily singing and shouting as they travel back to where-ever they live. But so inconsiderate at dawn to call so vigorously. The young do not know what happens around them; just between their ears and legs. I was never a carosering choruser. Oh snores of fin. The destraction to destruct all notions of sleep on this Sunday morning. I don't have to quit this donativo at all until ten. Back to struggle with sleep a while, I feel, now the partiers have vanished and the snorer will awake soon. I retired again but the death rattle of magpies kept this away. Eventually I turned over and all the beds were vacant and the sky shone through my unshuttered windows. Rise and attend to petit dejourner somewhere. I hung out for ...

On departing Cahors/Chemin de la Saint Jacques @ Cahors, Toulouse & Montpellier Why just retirees? Have the young forgotten their feet in a consumer dust? All teettoring on the gulf of cracked tooth and forked tongue wag. No matter what I say, and how close to pronouncement, I am sounding more like the French Policeman in Allo! Allo! Fucking dick Hank! Good riddence to appallingly arrogant man. Yet au revoir to Serge; a splendid homme! I spoke to my Irish cousins no more; carrying the hopes of disappointment on their furlocks and moist hiberian palms. Bought petit fraise, €2, figue and banane sans moisture, €8. The Moroccan crook wanted €10 for 100 grammes of dried banane and fig. C'est la swindler! With a change of pace becomes a change of place and change of pleasure: hello Edinburgh University persons! Bonjour pretty journey femme heading to teach in Italia. Rant to university boyo from Leicester via NUT and Edinburgh History degree over. Jump on another tr...